


time of our life

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, F/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: Marinette doesn't remember anything before she was twenty-two. She's happy with her life until she's transported back into the past with her best friend. Her parents are alive, her best friend's her bully, and no one can convince her it's not a dream. AU.(in which shy adrien can't deal with his crush's sudden personality change.)
Relationships: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81





	time of our life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassandrasfisher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandrasfisher/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for miraculous writer's guild's february event, i got “adrienette” requested by _cassandrasfisher_!! the prompt was very vague, so i hope you enjoy what i've done with this. i've split it into two parts to make it easier to read with the time travel.
> 
> amnesia? time travel with chloé??? flustered adrien???? did i throw ideas altogether for fun??? yes to all of those, baby!! and yes, i did name this after the day6 song because i'm uncreative.......

“My arms hurt,” Marinette complained dramatically, dragging her feet along the platform. “How did you convince me to come shopping with you? My monthly budget's going to suffer now.”

“You're the one that insisted on paying for yourself this time,” Chloé pointed out, laughing. “I'll buy you dinner.”

“One dinner isn't going to cover everything,” she retorted.

“I'll buy your groceries, then,” Chloé proposed without missing a beat, adjusting the straps of the bags she was carrying. They were digging into her elbow from where she had her hand up by her chest. “Only if you promise to cook for me.”

“Putting up with you doesn't sound like a good compromise,” she muttered.

Chloé whacked her leg with her array of shopping bags. “You love me.”

“I love your money,” she corrected without shame.

And rather than be offended, Chloé huffed and stalked down the platform in search of a free seat. From the amount of people that were waiting for the train, it was unlikely that there was one.

“Wait for me,” Marinette called out, not trying to speed up in the slightest.

Chloé turned around to face her and tapped her foot on the floor. “Hurry up.”

“You're trying to leave me,” she lamented, stretching her shoulders to click her back. “An employee's going to see me and assume I'm a lost child again.”

“You don't look _that_ young,” Chloé denied.

“I got asked for my ID for buying painkillers last week,” she pointed out.

Chloé rolled her eyes. “Get over it.”

“I won't!” she exclaimed.

There was fondness in Chloé's voice as she accused, “You're a fucking idiot.”

Marinette pretended to shoot her. “Your idiot.”

“Stop flirting with me,” Chloé demanded.

“But you're sleeping in my bed tonight,” she replied, tilting her head. “I have to set the mood, you know? It's awkward otherwise.”

“We're sharing because you're too poor to have a guest room,” Chloé bluntly told her.

She laughed. “We could stay at your place!”

“And have my parents fawn all over you?” Chloé wrinkled her nose. “No way.”

“You could move out,” she proposed.

With a raise of her eyebrows, Chloé replied, “And be cut off from their money? I don't think so, Mari. I don't like you _that_ much.”

“That doesn't even make sense,” she spluttered.

“You're the only one telling me to leave them,” Chloé pointed out.

She laughed. “I'm your only friend!”

“Are you?” Chloé questioned, narrowing her eyes. “I have plenty of friends.”

“You don't trust any of them,” Marinette replied, gesturing between them. “Other than me. I'm the one that knows everything because I'm awesome.”

“Your ego's been terrible since you became pretty.”

She beamed. “I'm really pretty, right?”

“The haircut helps,” Chloé agreed.

With a wink, Marinette said, “It's why you keep me around now.”

“Your prettiness aside, I do have other friends,” Chloé proclaimed with a toss of her hair over her shoulder. It made her bags hit her stomach in the process. “You're not getting out of meeting him tomorrow.”

At the reminder, she sighed. “You're staying over to stop me from running away.”

“You refused to meet him last time!” Chloé accused, pointing at her. “Adrien thinks I'm making you up because you disappear whenever he calls—the _one_ time he's in the country, your phone died!”

“I forgot to put it on charge!” she defended.

Chloé stomped her foot. “You didn't answer your door!”

“You have a key now, stop crying about it!”

Chloé huffed. “I'll do what I want.”

Adjusting the bags digging in through her clothes, Marinette muttered, “When don't you?”

Chloé kicked her shin.

She yelped.

Jumping back to get away from her with a glare, Marinette was startled when someone knocked into her, making her lose her balance. It was made worse when their reaction was to push her away instead of helping.

She hit her head as she fell.

Marinette groaned, black spots in her vision as she tried to open her eyes, and all the sudden noise only made her head hurt worse. She struggled to sit up, letting out a pained noise as someone had their hands on her.

It was Chloé, she could tell from her voice.

Although she couldn't quite make out of the words from the sudden drowsiness she felt, pain starting to turn numb as her eyes felt heavy, the hands on her were frantic as they tried to lift her up.

-x-

“You're going to be late!”

Marinette woke up slowly, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes.

“Marinette!” that voice called again, complete with a knock at her door.

It wasn't Chloé.

With a frown, she realised that it wasn't her bedroom any more.

Well, that wasn't right. It was her childhood bedroom, the one that she'd forgotten and felt incredibly out of place in, one she'd refused to stay in for too long when she was struggling to find a place to move out to. She'd preferred to sleep on the sofa than stay in the room.

It was one of those dreams, then.

“Marinette, I'm coming in.”

There was no overwhelming rush of affection as her mother peered into the room, smiling as she caught sight of her.

Sabine, that was her name.

Marinette had heard all the stories from family members; about how Sabine and met Tom, had fallen in love after a few dates, and got married within a year despite their families protesting.

She knew the stories, yet she didn't know them.

“Come on down for breakfast,” Sabine encouraged, smile reaching her eyes. “It's always good to start the week with a full stomach!”

Not knowing how to reply to that, she simply nodded.

Sabine shut the door softly before leaving.

Marinette flopped back on her bed with a sigh.

She hated these dreams the most—the thought of clinging onto what she didn't know always made her mood plummet when she woke up, only remembering the faintest parts that had happened.

It was odd that she was so aware, but she wasn't going to question that so much.

A glance in the mirror proved that she looked exactly as she had in pictures from her teenage years; with a blunt haircut, freckles standing out against her pale skin, and skinny.

Chloé would've thrown a fit from the ugliness of her pyjamas alone.

There was a school uniform draped over the chair by her desk.

It was something she'd only seen in pictures.

Dressing up in a school uniform—when it wasn't even the skimpy version Chloé had forced her into before—felt incredibly awkward. Marinette stared into her mirror as she adjusted the shirt, deciding to tuck it into the skirt in an attempt to have some sort of figure.

The hair wasn't any better.

It was clear that she wasn't using conditioner.

With a wince, she decided to plait it, using her fingers to pull out some strands at the front to frame her face.

And when they were too long, she fetched the scissors from her desk and snipped them a little.

She wasn't about to cut a fringe herself and regret it.

Chloé had laughed at her enough for that in the past.

It felt like an out of body experience when she wandered down the stairs to see her parents sat at the dining table, sipping their drinks and laughing at what the other said without noticing that she'd arrived yet.

Was that what they sounded like?

Marinette hadn't looked at a video for years, so she'd forgotten.

Tom was all shoulders and wide, while Sabine was small and soft-looking. There was something strange about seeing them move and interact rather than only recalling what she could from the videos and photos.

Tom saw her first, patting the seat beside him.

Her body felt stiff as walked over and sat down.

“Sleepy?” he questioned, placing a hand on top of her head before taking it away. “I shouldn't mess up your hair. It looks like that took you forever.”

Sabine curiously asked, “When did you learn to do that?”

“Recently?” It came out sounding like a question. “A... friend taught me.”

“Maybe you can do mine at the weekend,” Sabine proposed, touching a strand of her own and looking at it critically. “Unless you think it's too short?”

She shrugged. “I could do some of it.”

Sabine beamed. “Really?”

“I'm sure it'll look beautiful,” Tom remarked.

Marinette chose to shove food in her mouth to avoid talking.

It didn't stop them two, however. They chattered on about different topics, looking at her for her input, and all Marinette could do was make vague noises as she ate more than necessary to avoid saying something stupid.

All that was really stupid was that she was aware that she was dreaming.

Before long, she was ushered to the front door, given her backpack along with a kiss on her cheek, and wished a good day as she was shoved out.

Marinette stared at the house from the pavement.

She didn't know where her school was.

And after searching through her backpack, she realised that there was no phone that could give her the answers.

Then again, she didn't remember what that model of phone was like.

Thankfully, seeing other students in the school uniform gave her someone to follow. She walked slowly, taking in the sights, wondering whether they were accurate to what they were nowadays. Marinette had moved away as soon as she could, so she couldn't confirm if the small details like the corner-shops were correct.

She could've been making it all up and filling in the blanks how she wanted.

It didn't matter.

When she stopped in front of the school, the other problem of not knowing where to go popped up.

A call of her name didn't fix it.

“Marinette!” came an exclamation before she was pulled into a hug. “You ignored me last night! Were you too busy playing that stupid game?”

Stepping out of their hold, Marinette could only question, “Game?”

It was a girl her age; dressed somewhat scruffy with her shirt untucked, the top button undone, and curly hair that was a mess.

There was nothing familiar about her, of course.

“Don't try and play innocent to me,” the girl started, putting her hands on her hips. “You _always_ ignore me for it! This is the last straw, I swear. I'm going to stop being your friend if you do it again.”

She blinked. “Okay.”

The girl laughed.

Marinette didn't.

It started to get awkward.

And instead of looking at the confused expression that was slowly spreading across the girl's face, Marinette reached up and tucked some stray hairs behind her ear as she glanced around.

There was a blonde-haired girl getting out of a car.

She ran towards her without a second thought.

Her shoes almost fell off from where she hadn't adjusted the laces, backpack hitting her back from how fast she ran, and there was nothing but a surge of happiness from seeing her friend's face.

Before Chloé had a chance to shut the car door, she hugged her.

Chloé breathed out, “Marinette?”

“This is freaking weird, dude,” she remarked, breathing in the scent of Chloé's hair products. “At least you're here. You'll keep me sane.”

Chloé hugged her tightly.

It was Marinette that wheezed that time. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Don't fucking say that,” Chloé retorted, squeezing tighter.

She made a choked sound.

And when they parted enough, Chloé suddenly had her hand on her face, worry clear on her expression.

“This is a weird dream,” she said, allowing the manhandling as Chloé turned her head from side-to-side. “I thought you went to some fancy school.”

“This _is_ a fancy school.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Chloé put her hands on Marinette's shoulders and demanded, “Do you know me?”

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “What kind of question is that?”

Her grip tightened. “Answer it.”

“Of course I do?” Marinette responded, tilting her head. “That's why you're here. In my dream.”

Chloé replied, “This isn't a dream.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said with a laugh. “Why else would I be a teenager again?”

“You're—” Chloé let out a frustrated noise, finally closing the door and giving a short wave to the driver to make them leave. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to buy painkillers,” was her response. Then she had to add on, “I think? Maybe not right now. I don't know.”

Chloé's shoulders sagged. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she questioned. “That's all you're going to say?”

“I'm trying not to breakdown, actually,” Chloé retorted, running her fingers through her hair. It was short, barely brushing her shoulders, a length that Marinette had never seen on her before. “Do you even remember what happened?”

Marinette gestured to her outfit. “I'm dreaming, obviously.”

Chloé exclaimed, “I'm right here!”

“Yeah, because I want you to be,” she mused, adjusting the straps of her backpack to be back on her shoulders. “Why wouldn't I? You're my best friend.”

“I'm your only friend,” Chloé muttered.

This Chloé was softer, if that was the right word. There was some fat to her cheeks, tall but not quite the inch or so extra that she'd grow, and she looked healthy.

She looked young.

It was strange to see.

“No, that's me to you,” Marinette corrected with a grin. “Wanna skip school and get some food? I'll let you pay.”

“Oh, you'll _let_ me?”

She winked. “You said you'd pay for my groceries, remember? This'll have to do for now.”

“You think you're dreaming _and_ you still want food?” Chloé questioned with a frown. “You think with your stomach far too much.”

Marinette laughed. “I like food.”

“I can't skip school,” Chloé said glumly, scuffing her shoe against the pavement. “I'll be cut off from my card if I do, so...”

It was laughable. “So what? This is a dream!”

“It's _not—_ ”

“Why are you arguing with me?” Marinette asked. “I'm right!”

“This isn't a dream,” Chloé insisted loudly. “We died.”

She stared. “Right.”

“We got hit by a train because you fell onto the tracks,” Chloé said, gesturing between the two of them. “I tried to pull you out but I tricked over our bags.”

“You... tripped?” she questioned.

Chloé's face turned red. “I was wearing heels.”

“I always tell you not to,” Marinette replied, shaking her head. “You can't wear them for hours! And I had to give you my last pink plaster for your ankle—”

Chloé interrupted her with, “We're dead.”

“No, I'm dreaming,” she corrected without hesitation. “That's why I want to eat all the food I can.”

“We have to go to school.”

She beamed. “You have to go.”

Chloé questioned, “Do you have your wallet on you?”

“Of course I do,” she responded, taking off one strap of her bag to open up the zip and paw through her belongings. There was a pencil case, notebooks, and textbooks, but no little wallet that would have her money in it. “The hell? How am I supposed to eat now?”

Chloé linked their arms and started to drag her towards the school. “I'll buy you lunch.”

“You think I'm going to sit through classes?” Marinette said, though she didn't try and stop her. “I don't want to remember them!”

“I'm pretty sure you don't remember shit,” Chloé mused.

“Well, yeah,” she agreed easily. “I have amnesia, dude. It's pretty self-explanatory.”

“We went to school together,” Chloé decided to reveal. “I never told you.”

She snorted. “Yeah, sure. I totally believe that.”

“We're in the same classes.”

“Nice,” she said. “Are we sat next to each other?”

“No, you used to sit with your friends,” Chloé answered as they entered through the gates. The majority of the students that had swarmed outside had gone in by that time, only a few that were lagging behind remaining. “They're going to pester you about what happened, so just ignore them and stay by me. It'll work.”

She didn't believe a word of it. “I don't have friends.”

“You do,” Chloé said.

“Well, they were pretty shit, then,” Marinette replied, smoothing out her shirt as they made it to the top of the stairs by the entrance doors. “None of them reached out after my accident, so what's the point of talking to them?”

“Ignore them,” Chloé advised.

“I can't believe you're the one dragging me to school,” she muttered. “I can't even make you get a job.”

“I have a job,” Chloé countered.

She huffed. “You post pictures on Instagram.”

“And get paid for it,” Chloé replied, smile showing her teeth.

“You live with your parents!” she exclaimed.

“So do you right now.”

“Oh, don't remind me,” she said, frowning. “That was weird. I hope I wake up soon.”

Chloé laughed. “This is hell, so no.”

“Hell is school?” she questioned, trying to keep a straight face. “I don't remember it being that bad.”

“Was that a fucking joke?” Chloé demanded.

“Bad jokes are my thing!” she said through her laughter.

“No, that's Adrien's,” Chloé muttered before coming to a stop in the hallway. “I—he's going to be here.”

“What?” she asked.

“Adrien,” Chloé clarified, wide-eyed. “He went to school with us.”

“Wow, looks like the whole gang's here,” she quipped, not believing her in the slightest. “I can't even avoid him in my dreams, huh?”

Chloé breathed out loudly. “He's in a different class.”

“Oh, pity,” she mused. “Is he still pretty?”

Chloé whirled around fast enough to make her hair move. “ _Still_?”

“What? He's literally a model,” she responding, surprised.

“You've never called him pretty before!”

“Yes, I have!” Marinette exclaimed. “I always say Adrien's pretty when you show me his pictures—”

Chloé complained, “You can't compliment him!”

“What?”

“He'll die if he hears that now,” Chloé explained, putting her hands on Marinette's shoulders and looking her in the eyes. “Actually, just avoid him. Don't mess this up any more than it already is.”

“I am very confused,” she stated.

Chloé squeezed her shoulders. “Keep it that way.”

“Okay, mother,” she said, shrugging her off. “Are we going to go learn about numbers now?”

“Maths is later.”

“Fuck, _really_?” she blurted. “I was kidding!”

Chloé gestured to a door with a flourish. “And we're already late, so we'll have detention later.”

There was nothing as daunting as opening up the door and having a class full of unfamiliar faces staring at her.

Chloé adapted to attention positively as always, taking Marinette's hand in hers and tugging her along to a desk and shoving her in it before crossing to the other side of the classroom to sit down.

The girl from that morning was beside her, wide-eyed as she mouthed something.

Marinette had no idea what she said.

She got detention at lunch.

-x-

“Okay, what the fuck?” Marinette demanded at their first break, marching straight over to Chloé's desk before someone else could talk to her. “I want to die. This is the worst.”

“How's studying going for you?” Chloé questioned, shoving her belongings into her bag. “You looked real stupid when the teacher called on you earlier.”

She kicked Chloé's shin. “I can't believe you dragged me here.”

“You're penniless,” Chloé pointed out.

“You've got more money than I'll ever have,” she retorted. “And you love buying me shit.”

“I'm buying you lunch,” Chloé reminded her, standing up. “We have to leave the classrooms at breaks.”

She scoffed. “You're really following all of these rules?”

“I get money taken away per detention,” Chloé replied. “I already got one earlier because of you.”

Wandering out into the hallway, Marinette couldn't even remember where the other classroom they'd been in that morning was located. Chloé wasn't lying about the two of them being in all the classes together, thankfully.

“People keep trying to talk to me,” she complained.

“You're popular,” Chloé replied. “You win prom queen.”

“Nice joke,” she replied. “That's more for someone like you.”

“Me?” Chloé laughed. “They hate me.”

She muttered, “I hate you.”

“This really isn't how I expected the afterlife to go,” Chloé mused, dragging her along until they came to a set of lockers. There was no hesitation as she twisted the lock to the right combination. “I wanted there to be less acne and body odour.”

“How do you remember your code?” she asked.

Chloé shrugged. “It's the same one I use for everything else.”

She questioned, “Do I have a locker?”

“Somewhere,” Chloé confirmed. “I don't know where. You can use mine, if you want. Shove your books in.”

It was a relief to have a lighter backpack.

It was such a strange dream; to be surrounded by faces that she couldn't place, aware as she sat through lessons of teachers droning on about their subjects that Marinette had wiped from her memory—however unwillingly it was—and for it to go on so long was somewhat disorientating.

“I'm sure my alarm will go off soon,” she mused as they sat down on an empty bench outside, the other students around them younger than their year group. “Or you'll kick me awake, whichever goes first.”

“We died,” Chloé said.

“I can't be such with you in hell,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I'm a much better person than you.”

“You laughed at someone falling over last week,” Chloé pointed out.

She exclaimed, “He looked at your boobs!”

“That doesn't make you a good person,” was the argument to that. “I'm telling you, we went to school together.”

“I met you when I was twenty-three,” she pointed out. “You never mentioned this.”

Chloé shifted. “You never asked.”

“That's your defence?” Marinette laughed. “Besides, if this was true, doesn't that mean I know Adrien?”

“Not... really?” Chloé said, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair. It was clear that she'd expected it to be longer when she trailed them through the strands, going further then her shoulders. “I mean, maybe. I wanted to see if he'd recognise you first.”

She tilted her head. “He's seen pictures of me.”

Chloé pointed out, “You're not pretty right now.”

“I have bad hair,” she readily agreed. “I don't think I even use conditioner. Wanna feel?”

“Absolutely not,” Chloé denied.

Marinette raised her eyebrows.

Chloé gave in and felt her braids, wrinkling her nose in disgusting. “Ew.”

She laughed. “ _Right_?”

“You're coming with me after school,” Chloé said. “I'm making you get a haircut.”

“Yeah, sure.” Marinette smiled, leaning into her and resting her head on Chloé's shoulder. “You gonna be my sugar daddy in this life, too? I can't say I hate it.”

“You're a disaster,” Chloé accused.

She sniffed. “And not even a pretty one.”

“You're salvageable,” Chloé said, patting her head. “Maybe use some face products, too. Your nose is dry.”

She touch her cheek. “Is it?”

“We'll get you make-up, too.”

Marinette laughed. “Thanks, daddy.”

Chloé shoved her on the floor.

There was one more lesson before lunch. Marinette complained the whole time Chloé guided her back through another hallway towards a classroom. It could've been in a complete different direction for all she knew—she had no memory of the layout, didn't know her schedule in the slightest, and it was Chloé shoving her in her seat that had her sitting down each time.

More often than not, the girl from the morning was there.

Marinette hadn't caught her name yet.

The girl turned towards her immediately, a furrow in her brow as she asked, “Marinette, are you okay?”

She gave her a thumbs up.

It wasn't the right answer, apparently.

Leaning forward, the girl enquired in a hushed voice, “Did Chloé—did she do something to you?”

“Well, she did push me over,” Marinette mused, gesturing down to her dirty knee.

The girl gasped. “Did you tell a teacher?”

“No?” It came out sounding like a question. “I deserved it.”

“That's _not_ true!”

And before she could respond to that properly, the teacher came in, the class falling quiet at their appearance.

The girl passed her a note, telling her to run with her at lunch.

Marinette wrote back that she had detention.

That earned another concerned look.

When the bell rang, Chloé came and tugged her along, saving her from any awkward conversation. While she did like talking to people, small talk wasn't her speciality.

Chloé knew to save her at those times.

The detention only lasted half of the lunch period.

“Aren't you supposed to be feeding me?” she complained as they exited, stretching her arms out in front of her with a sigh. “I'm withering away here. Do you even realise how much I've used my brain today?”

“You translate for a living,” Chloé pointed out.

She stuck her tongue out.

Chloé jabbed her with her elbow.

“Abuse!” she yelped.

“You deserve it!” Chloé exclaimed, going to brush her hair over her shoulder before realising it was too short to make that action look worth it. “I hate this. Why am I young again?”

“Shouldn't you be happy about your youth?” she questioned. “You were considering getting botox for that one wrinkle on your forehead—”

Chloé promptly covered her mouth with her hands to shut up her.

Marinette licked.

“You're disgusting,” Chloé accused.

“Feed me,” she demanded.

“There has to be something left in the dining hall,” Chloé said, linking their arms and starting towards the opposite direction.

Although it seemed silly to ask, she questioned, “You remember your way?”

“It's hard to forget,” Chloé said quietly. “I hated these years.”

“Well, welcome back,” Marinette replied, bumping her shoulders with hers lightly. “I'm here to suffer with you.”

“You were the first time.”

“Yeah, I'm still convinced this is a dream from being knocked out,” she responded without skipping a beat, smiling widely as they walked outside to see groups of other students gathered around. “Maybe I'm in a coma? That's why it's taking so long.”

“You're not in a coma,” Chloé denied.

“Says you,” she said, waggling a finger her way. “You're a figment of my imagination. My Chloé would've never had short hair.”

Chloé frowned. “It's short because someone put gum in it.”

She gaped. “You were _bullied_?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Someone put gum in your hair!” she exclaimed, feeling furious despite the fact that she was making it all up. “That's—you can't say that's a joke! Point me their way, I'll punch them.”

Chloé looked away with a sigh. “It's your best friend.”

“...You put gum in your hair?”

“No, that girl that keeps trying to talk to you,” Chloé reluctantly replied, looking ahead instead of meeting her gaze. And when her hair fell into her face, Chloé didn't brush it aside—a worrying fact since she knew Chloé hated hair in her face, and that was why she'd never opted to have a fringe again. “She did it... last year? Maybe?”

She made a fist. “I'm going to punch her.”

Chloé blurted, “I put gum on your chair first.”

She blinked. “Mine?”

“Yeah.”

Marinette squinted. “...This is a weird dream.”

“This isn't—” Chloé ran her fingers through her hair with a sigh, stopping outside of the doors to go into a building. “This isn't a dream.”

With a laugh, she questioned, “Why would I even believe that?”

“Because I tripped over this morning and it _hurt_?” Chloé replied.

She smiled. “Sucks to be you, loser.”

Chloé huffed. “I can push you over. My kick clearly wasn't enough to make you cry.”

“You gonna make me cry, daddy?” Marinette questioned, raising her eyebrows. “At least buy me dinner first. I'm not an easy girl.”

It was enough to make Chloé looked at her in disgust. “You're insufferable.”

She patted her stomach.

“Fine, come on,” Chloé said, opening up the door and jerking her head in a gesture to make Marinette walk in first. “We've only got enough time for something quick.”

“I can't believe you're such a good student,” she mused, joining the short line of students. The hall had multiple tables with students sat down eating, a few teachers sat down at their own one, and a monitor on one side watching the room. “What fine cuisine are you treating me to? I have no idea if my skin's going to break from eating shit.”

Chloé snorted. “Your skin has always been good.”

“That why you gummed me?”

“Gummed isn't a word,” Chloé said.

“You know what I mean,” Marinette replied, waving a hand dismissively. “You jealous of my smooth skin?”

“Smooth?” Chloé raised her eyebrows. “We already discussed that you need products for it.”

“Well, I haven't got any spots,” she said, reaching up to touch her cheek. “That has to count for something.”

“It means you're stupid.”

She laughed. “I can't argue with that.”

The sandwich wasn't awful. It was a lot better than she thought it would be for school food—then again, she didn't remember any of her school days. Her test scores and the diploma from university seemed redundant when she didn't remember a single thing from those days.

It was a strange dream she was having, that was all.

Chloé had never said what school she'd attended.

It had never popped up into conversation because it wasn't important. The two of them lazing around inside and watching trashy films while drinking wine was the highlight of her week, not asking about Chloé's childhood because she had no idea about her own.

She managed to avoid talking to her supposed best friend that day.

When classes ended, Chloé whisked her away, dragging her to the car that was waiting outside by the pavement, demanding to go to the shopping centre.

It didn't hit that she was smaller than before until Chloé had shoved new clothes at her.

Marinette tilted her head. “I thought I was getting a haircut?”

“You need a good outfit for this weekend,” Chloé responded. “I can't introduce you to my parents in rags.”

“But I know them?”

“Not now, you don't,” Chloé said.

She snorted. “Right, I forgot. This is the _past_.”

“It is, but you don't believe me,” Chloé replied, taking the clothes on the hangers and taking them to the register without asking for Marinette's opinion on them. “Why would you when I'm the one with the brains between us?”

“Since _when_?”

Chloé looked over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. “Since I saved you from that spiked drink the other week?”

She pouted. “I can't argue with that.”

A pair of shoes were thrown in to wear to school instead of the trainers that hadn't been done up properly, and within the hour, she had her fringe cut in and a stash of conditioner purchased that would last for a while.

“Did I just want a shopping spree without worrying about the price?” Marinette questioned, admiring the bags she was carrying as they went back to Chloé's car. “I don't have to worry about being homeless if I've got parents. That's a weird feeling.”

“You—your parents,” Chloé said, cutting herself off abruptly as she sated at her, wide-eyed. “I _forgot_.”

“Real weird,” she agreed, settling down and buckling her seatbelt. “I even got a kiss on my cheek this morning. Is that normal? I have no idea.”

All Chloé could repeat was, “You have parents.”

She mused, “Does this mean I don't have to cook dinner?”

“Or washing,” Chloé added on.

“Or take out the rubbish, I hope,” Marinette continued on with a wistful sigh. “Maybe this makes up for having to sit through classes—unless they make me do all that to make me independent.”

“You could always break your arm to get out of it,” Chloé suggested.

She beamed. “Great idea!”

Chloé smiled right back.

-x-

The joy of not having to do anything was short.

Marinette got home to a scolding.

She was bewildered.

“You didn't even call us!” Tom exclaimed, pulling her into a hug that she didn't return. “We were so worried about you! And Alya told us that you'd ran off with someone else—”

“I was in a car,” she helpfully informed him.

He made a choked noise. “You got into a _stranger's_ car?”

Marinette blinked. “No, she's my best friend.”

“That—” Tom frowned, the furrow between his brows more prominent with his age. “You need to tell us if you're going anywhere, okay? I was scared that something happened to you.”

It was hard to feel bad about it when she didn't know him.

“Sorry,” she said, somewhat insincerely.

He sighed, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You're grounded.”

“Okay,” Marinette agreed, taking a step back to get away from his unfamiliar affection. “What does that mean?”

He questioned, “What does what mean?”

“Being grounded,” she clarified. “What about it?”

“It means you're not allowed to play any games until the weekend,” he decided, putting his hands on his hands. “And don't think I didn't see those bags that you took up to your room. What did you spend all your money on?”

“Oh, I didn't buy anything,” she said.

Tom squinted. “Don't lie.”

“They're gifts.”

“It's not your birthday,” he pointed out.

She decided to reply, “I'm a sugar baby now.”

He made a choked noise. “Excuse me?”

Marinette laughed at his expression. “Chloé bought me them.”

“Chloé,” he said, repeating the name under his breath. “And that is—that's not someone you've mentioned before. How do you know her?”

“She's in my class,” Marinette replied, honest. “We've patched things up and sealed the deal with matching shoes.”

He looked mystified. “Matching... shoes.”

With a nod, she said, “She's very rich.”

“You can't just—you can't take advantage of people,” Tom fumbled to say, looking overwhelmed as he reached up to scratch his cheek. “Are you sure she's not expecting you to pay her back?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, she loves buying shit for me.”

“ _Marinette_!”

“What?” she asked. “I liked being spoiled, so it's—”

“Language!” he exclaimed, aghast. “You never talked like this before!”

She laughed. “That's the problem?”

“If your mother heard, she'd do so much worse than take your games away,” he told her, frown emphasised by his moustache. “I'll turn the internet off if I find you gaming.”

“All right,” she readily agreed.

That was the second person that had mentioned her playing games.

The most she'd done was download a few games on her phone, but she'd never gotten too invested in them. Her laptop had been up-to-date for her job, though she'd never spent much time on it other than watching videos online.

It was a strange thought.

Now in the bedroom instead of a laptop, there was a computer underneath a desk, along with a pink keyboard and mouse. There was a clear theme in the room; childish and overwhelmingly decorated with little knick-knacks that she'd only glanced at when she'd stayed after the accident before.

It didn't feel personal at all.

On the desk, her phone was plugged in and charging.

It was an outdated model that had buttons still.

She didn't know the code.

And along with that, she didn't have Chloé's number to call her.

Marinette passed the time watching videos, lounging in the chair and wondering when she was going to wake up.

Dinner was an awkward affair, too. She wasn't used to eating with so many people, let alone being asked how her day was.

When she climbed into bed, wearing her pink pyjamas that needed to be replaced, she stared up at the ceiling, raising her hand up and spreading her fingers to look through them.

She wondered how Chloé was doing.

The real one, that was. Not the one she'd imagined up that had gone to school with her and had once slapped gum onto her seat in the past.

-x-

The morning wasn't any better.

Her hair was softer, though. The conditioner was doing a good job.

Marinette had trudged out the door with her purse that time, new shoes on, and hair styled nicely in a high ponytail, complete with a ribbon she'd found stuffed in a drawer. It felt like she was cosplaying with the school uniform.

The students walking the street helped her find her way easily once more.

After waiting on the curb a while, Chloé flew out the car and pulled her into a hug.

“Do you know who I am?” Chloé questioned, holding her tightly.

“A pain in my ass?” she quipped. “You're going to mess up my hair.”

Chloé pulled back, enough to cast a critical gaze up to the hair in question. “It looks nice.”

She smiled. “Doesn't it?”

“You literally look like jailbait,” Chloé deadpanned.

With a laugh, she said, “I don't even know how old I am, but thanks.”

“How are you _not_ freaking out yet?” Chloé asked, taking her arm and dragging her towards the school much sooner than the previous day. “I had a breakdown last night when I looked at my underwear drawer.”

“That's a weird thing to say.”

“Everything looks like I'd wear it on my period only,” Chloé complained. “I want to be cute.”

“You're too young for cute undies,” she remarked. “Also it seems that, like, everything I own is pink. Even my toothbrush.”

Chloé laughed. “How pink are we talking?”

“Multiple shades of it,” she elaborated. “And it really is _everywhere_. I think I'm going to go blind.”

“I'll get you a pink cane.”

She jabbed her with her elbow. “That's not funny.”

Chloé fluttered her eyelashes. “My jokes don't tickle you pink?”

Appalled, Marinette took her arm back and started to say, “Get away from you, you're _disgusting—_ ”

It wasn't Chloé that spoke.

“Marinette!” The girl from the day before ran up to them—curly hair messy and red-faced from running too fast—and latched onto Marinette's other arm, trying to tug her away. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, no,” Marinette said, extracting her arm and taking advantage of Chloé's height to somewhat hide behind her. “I mean, yeah. I'm fine. Thanks.”

Confusion was clear in the girl's voice. “What are you doing?”

She glanced at Chloé. “Talking?”

“Since when are you friends with _her_?”

“Since we made a bloodpact,” she quipped.

Chloé snorted. “We did not.”

“You helped me with a nosebleed, it counts,” she mused. “You can't tell me otherwise.”

“None of my blood was involved!” Chloé exclaimed.

Marinette suggested with an innocent smile, “We can change that.”

“You—what the hell?” the girl questioned, taken aback. “Is this why you've been ignoring me?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she bluntly replied. “Bye.”

And with that, Marinette started to drag Chloé away to the entrance of the school, completely changing their dynamic of the past day.

Chloé didn't protest. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“What? Going to school?” she asked.

“That's your friend,” Chloé said. “You'd kill for her.”

“I don't even know her name, dude.”

“It's Alya,” was the response to that. “She's been attached to your hip for—well, since we started this school.”

“Wow, so enlightening.” Marinette laughed. “You've answered all my questions at once!”

Chloé snapped, “Stop being sarcastic.”

“I don't like you, give me the real Chloé back,” she said, pausing inside the first hallway. “Where are we going, anyway? I didn't bring any books with me.”

“Did you do the homework?” Chloé asked.

Marinette stared. “Why would I do _that_?”

“...You still think you're dreaming, don't you?”

“It's literally the only explanation,” she pointed out, smugly raising her chin. “You expect me to believe that we're time-travelled back to school together? Yeah, that's totally possible.”

Chloé glowered. “I never said it made sense.”

“To be fair, you never make sense,” she mused.

There wasn't any heat in Chloé's voice as she said, “You really are an idiot.”

Marinette leaned into her for a half-hearted hug. “There's no getting rid of me now.”

“Again, we did _not_ make a bloodpact.”

Throughout the classes, she felt dazed and almost dozed off a few times, paying no attention to the teacher. When she said that she didn't have her homework for one, she wasn't given detention, nor did any teacher call on her to answers questions—so either her luck was good or she'd been a model student before.

It didn't matter when none of it was real.

For the short break, Chloé whisked her away across the school to where the younger students were, nabbing a bench and claiming it for themselves.

“They're so small,” she remarked, looking at a crowd of them that were talking while standing in some sort of circle formation. “Are we sectioned our by our years or something?”

“Yeah, there's different sections for everyone,” Chloé confirmed. “But I can't be bothered with everyone asking if I'm bullying you.”

She laughed. “But you do bully me.”

“I don't need the teachers giving me detention for elbowing you.”

“Thinking of the precious money you'll lose, I see,” she said, nodding her head. “I completely understand.”

“I mean, I really did bully you before,” Chloé said, fidgeting and putting a hand around the strap of her bag. “It's not exactly a bad conclusion to jump to.”

“With the gum.”

“What?” Chloé asked.

“You bullied me with the gum,” she clarified, letting out a laugh. “Gosh, that's so _juvenile_. Do something more interesting, why don't you?”

“You're—don't encourage me to be bad!” Chloé spluttered, wide-eyed. “I'm telling you a secret here!”

“Is it a secret if everyone else is concerned from just seeing me with you?” she asked.

Chloé let out a frustrated noise. “I never told you this before!”

She nodded. “Because I'm making this all up.”

“This is real!”

“Really dumb, I agree,” she said.

“You're so fucking annoying!” Chloé yelled, shoving her.

And with her laughter, Marinette fell off of the bench onto the damp ground, laughing more at Chloé's surprised expression. Clearly, Chloé hadn't expected her to fall off.

Marinette choked out, “Such _bullying—_ ”

“Chloé Bourgeois!”

It was a teacher.

Chloé got detention that lunch.

She couldn't stop laughing as the teacher scolded Chloé, telling her that she needed to grow up and stop hurting her class-mates when she didn't get her way. It failed when Chloé tried to say that they were friends, shot down with the teacher snapping back that they had to be sat apart the previous week because of another fight—a titbit that Marinette hadn't known yet.

She cackled. “We're enemies.”

Chloé stomped her foot. “We're _not_!”

“Enemies to lovers!”

Chloé kicked her shin.

Another detention was added on.

Marinette was winded when the bell rang to signal that break was over.

The prospect of eating lunch alone wasn't one that she was uncomfortable with. It sounded preferable than sitting with Alya and being hounded with questions, so she picked up her bag and beelined out of the classroom at the first chance, wandering outside and following the other students to where she thought the dining hall was.

She didn't order food to sit down.

Adjusting the strap of her bag, she surveyed the tables to see whether she'd recognise any faces. She couldn't have come up with _all_ of them on a whim; there had to be some shoved in that she'd bumped into before, or even her neighbours could've been included.

She looked at them blankly.

At least, that was until she spotted one table where two boys were sitting.

Chloé had said that he attended the same school.

“Hey,” Marinette started after she'd approached his table. “You're Adrien, right?”

He looked up, startled.

It was easy to see how he'd grow up into the good-looking guy that Chloé had always shown her pictures of. His hair was shorter than she'd ever seen it, cheekbones sticking out less, yet there was still that nice curve to his nose and his long eyelashes that had always been defining features for him.

“M-Marinette?” he stuttered out.

“Oh, you know who I am,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “That makes this easier. Mind if I sit down? Chloé ditched me.”

He sounded winded. “You want to sit with me?”

“I figured it would be better to talk to you now than when Chloé's here to tell me off when I look at you too long,” she remarked, taking the seat beside him and piercing the lid of her drink with her straw. “Who's your friend?”

“I—”

“I'm Nino,” the friend said, standing up and clapping Adrien's shoulder. “I forgot I have somewhere to be. Bye.”

She took a long sip, watching Nino scurry away to another table. “He sure went fast.”

“I—yes,” Adrien managed to reply, sounding breathless. “He left me.”

“That sucks,” Marinette said, opening up her food and noticing that the quality matched up to the previous day. Schools had a good funding for lunches, apparently. “Do we share any classes?”

He wetted his lips. “Not this year.”

“Eh, I don't even remember last week,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Hard to believe that I'd forget a face like yours.”

“My face?” he questioned.

“You're pretty,” she said, gesturing his way with a tilt of her head. “But don't tell Chloé, she'll get jealous.”

He sucked in an audible breath. “Oh, you... you know about that?”

She shrugged. “Know that she doesn't want to share? Of course.”

Everything about his body language was stiff. “S-share?”

She took a big bite of her food.

Adrien was still staring at her.

She touched her cheek, making an inquisitive noise.

He looked away, the tops of his ears turning red.

Is this how she wanted him to be? The Adrien she knew was only from seeing Chloé's texts and hearing bits and pieces, never meeting him face-to-face. They knew of each other, of course, but he was usually out of the country working, so they'd managed to avoid each other for two years.

Marinette asked, “What year is it?”

He quietly replied.

It was ten years in the past.

“I'm fifteen,” she concluded with a nod of her head, thinking. “How old are you?”

“You want to know how old I am?” Adrien questioned, pointing at himself.

“Am I the baby here?” she asked. “I want to be older than someone for once. Please.”

“My birthday is next month.”

She frowned. “Of course it is.”

Adrien sounded as flustered as he looked when he babbled, “Not that I'm unhappy about you being here—because I'm not, really! But why are you—why are you _here_?”

“Because Chloé's got detention and you're the only other person I know,” she bluntly responded. “Well, know of? Unless we're friends. Are we friends?”

He whacked his knee on the table as he hastily replied, “I want to be your friend!” And after he'd hissed in pain and adjusted how he was sitting, he fiddled with the sleeve of his blazer. “I—I've always wanted to be your friend.”

Which wasn't a lie—Adrien had always expressed to Chloé that he wanted to meet her since it was so rare for Chloé to get along with someone so easily.

“Yeah, that's true,” she agreed, not at all bothered by the flustered teen beside her. “Want to run off into the sunset and piss Chloé off? That sounds like fun.”

Adrien stared at her, his lips parted with no words escaping.

She tilted her head. “No?”

“What?” was all he could say.

“Oh, right,” she said with a sigh of realisation. “Chloé and I have decided to be best friends. There, you're up-to-date now.”

He was baffled. “ _Friends_?”

Marinette took a pointed sip of her drink. “Best friends.”

“Best friends,” he repeated, sounding a bit dazed.

“I'm kicking you out and taking your spot,” she decided, pointing her straw at him and making a droplet of the drink splatter onto the table. “I'm prettier than you when I'm asleep.”

He made a choked noise.

“It's when you open your eyes that I lose,” she proclaimed, leaning back in the chair and squinting at him. “Are you taking pictures yet? Wait, that sounds weird. Are you _modelling_?”

He shifted in his seat. “You think I'm pretty?”

“Everyone thinks you're pretty, keep up,” Marinette replied with a laugh. “You have to be aware of that, right? You flutter your eyes and anyone will do what you want. It's a solid plan for life.”

Adrien swallowed. “I think I'm dreaming.”

She smiled. “Me, too.”

He stared some more.

She finished off her food.

Adrien kept staring at her.

-x-

Chloé had given her her number, yet that didn't bypass Marinette not knowing what the passcode on her phone was. She had to get her own number from her parents—claiming that she forgot it—and brought it written down on a piece of paper the next day.

That day, Chloé demanded that Marinette braid her hair for her.

“Of course, your highness,” she responded, bowing with a flourish while waiting for Chloé to sit on the bench outside of the school. “What will my payment be for this?”

“I'll take you out for dinner.”

She complained, “I'm grounded.”

“Now you care?” Chloé asked.

“They seriously cut off the internet last night because I was typing too loudly,” she muttered. “How does that even make _sense_? I was writing up what had happened while listening to music!”

“Get a quieter keyboard,” Chloé suggested.

“I doubt it'll come in pink,” she muttered.

Chloé laughed. “What, you're still upset about that?”

Marinette tugged on her hair. “You're the one complaining about your detentions!”

“The teacher called my parents and reported me for bullying!”

She snickered. “That's what you get.”

Chloé grumbled, “I don't want to be threatened with expulsion again—”

“ _Again_?” Marinette questioned, pausing in her braiding. “For real?”

“I was an angry gay in the closet,” Chloé proclaimed with a sigh. “I lashed out at everyone, including you. You're cute and everyone loved you, so I hated you.”

She laughed. “I'm dreaming of being queen bee?”

“You get crowned prom queen, remember?”

“So you say,” she mused. “I doubt I'll be dreaming that long. There hasn't been any fast-forward moments so far.”

Chloé sounded fed up. “Again, this is real.”

Marinette pulled on her hair roughly. “Does this hurt?”

Chloé hissed out, “Yes, what the _fuck_!”

“And done,” she announced, jumping back before Chloé could try and hit her. Marinette rocked back onto the balls of her feet, smiling widely as Chloé patted her hair to try and inspect whether she'd done a good job. “I made it match mine.”

It was enough for Chloé to pull a face. “Oh, gross.”

“We'll hint that you're gay very slowly,” she said.

Chloé snorted. “You're terrible at being subtle.”

“Okay, I won't do anything,” Marinette conceded, holding her hands up in a sign of surrender. “I'll be a good little girl.”

Chloé didn't look convinced. “Sure.”

Alya kept glancing at her during lessons. At the first break, Marinette could remember the way to the bench she'd sat with Chloé two days in a row, invading the space for the younger students without a care that they'd be intimidated by them being there.

And when Chloé had detention, Marinette wandered into the dining hall for lunch, perking up when she saw Adrien sitting at the table with his friend once.

“Adrien!” she called out, waving excitedly from the queue for food.

As soon as he saw her, his expression turned funny before settling into a bashful smiling, returning the wave shyly.

He was a cute kid.

With long limbs that he hadn't adjusted to yet, hair that was too short and too awkward-looking to compliment his facial features, and his shyness was ever-so-evident when she settled down beside him once more, trying not to laugh as he stiffened up.

His friend had already left.

“Where'd what's-his-face go?”

“Nino?” he questioned. “He—he had to go.”

“I can literally see him eating lunch right now,” she said, gesturing behind him to where Nino had scurried away to a different table. “Is he scared of me?”

“He's not scared of you,” Adrien assured her.

“He's not meeting my gaze,” she said, blatantly staring at Nino. “He's sweating.”

Adrien replied, “He sweats a lot.”

She squinted. “He ducked down his head to try and hide his face.”

“He's shy!”

She hummed.

“Why—why are you here?” Adrien questioned, the words coming out quickly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Not that I'm mad about it! I'd love to sit with you more—I mean, not love. I don't love you. That's absurd.”

She struggled not to laugh. “Chloé's got detention.”

He winced. “Again?”

“She shoved me in front of a teacher, so yes,” she mused. “I think my laughter got mistaken for me being hysterical from the pain.”

Adrien whispered, “You're hurt?”

She placed a hand over her chest. “Only my heart.”

He looked baffled.

“She's my friend, remember?” Marinette reminded him with a wink. “It's not my fault that no one else understands our relationship.”

“But she—she's horrible to you,” he told her softly, the furrow between his eyebrows not making any wrinkles appear on his youthful face. It was almost the expression she'd seen countless time for his shirtless shoots. “She poured milk over you before.”

She choked out a laugh. “Milk, _really_?”

“And tripped you over so you had a nosebleed before that—”

“Wow, she's good at bullying,” Marinette mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Anything else? I need to get her back somehow.”

The only way to describe his expression was to say that he was concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes,” she confirmed with a bright smile. “I'm plotting my revenge.”

“Your... revenge,” he repeated, doubtful.

“I'm going to hit her where it hurts,” she concluded with a nod of her head. “And that's you.”

He blinked. “You're going to hit me?”

“No, I'm befriending you,” she corrected him.

His shoulders sagged. “She's already mean to you because of me.”

“Because of _you_?”

“I—” Adrien cut himself off with a frustrated noise, shifting in his seat. “I didn't say that. Forget that.”

“I'm curious now,” she said, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head into her heads. “You're the reason I'm bullied?”

He looked panicked.

She had to laugh. “Sorry for teasing you.”

“I don't understand,” he blurted, wide-eyed.

“I never understand anything,” Marinette replied with smile that was utterly genuine. “It's better to go with the flow sometimes, you know? That's why I'm here now.”

It seemed that when they were together, his expression was either shy or incredulous for the most part. “You... flowed to my table?”

“I'm a fish,” she deadpanned.

Adrien didn't laugh. “I'm so confused.”

She pretended to shoot him. “That makes two of us.”

He gaped.

She laughed loudly.

-x-

It was strange not living alone.

Marinette had lived with some family members to get back on her feet after her accident—the very same one that her parents had died on—but her lack of memories had made it incredibly awkward. She didn't know how to talk to them, couldn't remember how close they were no matter how many stories they told her, and she couldn't wait to leave and live alone.

It was less suffocating that way.

And when she met Chloé, striking up a friendship that had stayed strong for the past two years, she was happy.

Chloé had stayed over sometimes, complaining the whole time about how small Marinette's place was, but it was obvious that Chloé liked it.

Having someone come in and wake her up in the morning was jarring.

Marinette fell out of bed when Tom came in and threw a pillow at her.

He laughed at her reaction while she stayed on the ground, open-mouthed and caught off-guard.

Is this what she wanted?

Sure, there had been times when she'd tried to picture growing up with parents, wondering whether their dynamic was like the families she saw on television or read about in books, but she didn't dwell on it often.

It felt uncomfortable to be around them for so long.

So, she stayed up in her bedroom, lounging around on the armchair or searching on the internet for something to do, avoiding her parents until they called her down for dinner.

They were very touchy-feely.

She got a lot of cheek kisses, brushes of her hair to smooth it down, and both of them liked to correct her outfit to make it sit on her properly when she came down.

It was far too much.

Compared to how suffocating it was at home, school wasn't bad. Although she wasn't worried about doing homework—not when she barely paid attention to classes and got away with it—Chloé shoved her homework onto her desk before the teachers appeared, demanding that she copy down the answers.

She wasn't going to say no to that.

A glance over to Alya had her looking like she'd swallowed a lemon.

Marinette turned her head away.

The dream was starting to become less and less fun—not that it had been overwhelming great in the first place.

She slumped forward, pressing her face against her textbooks on her desk and closed her eyes.

Chloé woke her up at the end, snapping her fingers.

Marinette sat up, wiping the drool from her mouth. “Huh?”

“You're supposed to be one of the top students,” Chloé said.

She laughed. “I don't remember studying a day in my life.”

“Translation is studying, isn't it?” Chloé said, opening Marinette's bag and helping to put her belongings into it to speed her up. “You're going to have everyone worried about you at this rate.”

She patted Chloé's shoulder. “You worry about me enough.”

As it turned out, there were quite a few people worrying about her. Marinette got used to strangers greeting her good morning and trying to talk to her on her way past, though she usually brushed them off in favour of seeking Chloé out.

They were made up, after all. There was no need to get involved in whatever she'd imagined up when it didn't matter in the end.

If she was stuck in a dream where she was aware, she was going to have fun with that.

So, that meant annoying Chloé.

Chloé didn't have detention that day.

When they got into the queue to buy food, Marinette sighed and leaned against Chloé, resting her head on her shoulder. “I'm so tired.”

Although Chloé didn't shove her off, she said, “Get off.”

“I'm too pretty to die from exhaustion,” she complained.

“One haircut and you think you're the shit, huh?” Chloé replied. “You have so much more to go until you can match up to how you look when you're older.”

She closed her eyes, loosely wrapping her arms around Chloé's waist. “I'm not doing yoga with you.”

“I'm not asking you to, bitch,” Chloé snapped back.

“Or any other fad exercise you pick up,” Marinette added on, not offended in the slightest from her response. “And I'm not wasting all my money on running shoes again, only for you to back out because it's too cold outside.”

“That's why treadmills exist.”

“For you being a pussy?” she asked.

Chloé sniffed. “I'm delicate.”

“Your hair is,” she agreed. “It'll snap off if I pull it too hard—”

Chloé shoved her off. “If you're going to insult me, you can go sit down.”

“And you'll bring my food over to me?” Marinette beamed. “Okay, thank you!”

And before Chloé could deny that, Marinette skipped away happily, glancing around the room to see whether she could spot Adrien at a table.

As he had before, he was sat down with his friend, talking quietly between bites of his food.

Nino glanced up as she approached.

She waved.

He ran away, darting to another table after clapping down on Adrien's shoulder, leaving without speaking a word to her.

“Does he have a reason to hate me?” she questioned as she slid into the seat, stretching her arms out in front of her.

And when there was no reason, she glanced to see Adrien looking at her, dumbstruck.

She snapped her fingers.

“I—what?” Adrien spluttered, face reddening.

“Nino,” she clarified. “Did I punch him?”

“No,” he replied, wide-eyed at the suggestion. “You—I don't think you've ever actually... spoken to him. Before now, I mean.”

“And yet, he runs from the sight of me,” she mused, tucking one leg underneath her thigh and proceeding to sit so awkwardly that her knee was bumping into him. “Can you ask him why? I need to apply that energy to the rest of my life.”

Adrien wasn't moving away from her. “You... want people running from you?”

“People are annoying,” she said.

He frowned. “I thought you liked people.”

She winked. “I like you.”

He averted his gaze to his food, growing red again.

It was easy to tease him.

She didn't have any reason to feel bad.

It was a surprise when he shakily offered, “Did you—do you want some of my lunch?”

“Oh,” Marinette said, a bit caught off-guard. “Thanks, but I'm having mine delivered.”

He blinked.

She smiled.

Adrien's ears were red.

Was this what she wanted? For Chloé's other best friend to stumble over his words around her, to be so shy and tongue-tied when he was literally so good-looking that he'd managed to make a career out of it?

That was the dream, indeed.

“You're cute,” she bluntly told him.

He promptly choked on his drink.

And as he coughed, she patted his back in sympathy.

Chloé chose that moment to arrive, loudly scraping the chair beside Marinette across the floor as she sat down, glaring the whole time.

Marinette continued to pat his back as she said, “You made it!”

It wasn't a question when Chloé demanded, “What are you doing.”

“He's choking,” she offered as an explanation.

Adrien hastily wiped his eyes, making a strangled noise. “This isn't—”

Marinette beamed. “I flirted with him a little and he died.”

Chloé glowered.

Adrien squirmed, making it so her hand dropped down from his back.

“You... flirted with him,” Chloé repeated, pointing her glare at Adrien instead of her.

Marinette pretended to shoot her.

Chloé exclaimed, “He's a _minor_!”

She laughed. “He's older than me right now!”

“That's not the point!” Chloé insisted, jabbing a finger into Marinette's chest. “He's like a baby duckling! He's going to imprint on you because you said his dick looks nice.”

Adrien made a horrified noise.

“I'm sure it's very nice,” she replied, putting her hand on top of Chloé's. “You'd know out of the both of us.”

Chloé looked disgusted. “Why would you say that?”

“You're the one that told me you used to take baths together!” she said through her laughter.

Chloé took her hand back, shoving Marinette's food and drink towards her. “When we were _toddlers_!”

She stayed stubborn. “I don't see what I said wrong.”

“You complimented his dick.”

Marinette laughed. “You brought it up first!”

Beside her, Adrien's voice cracked as he asked, “What's going on?”

Marinette jabbed her straw through the lid of her drink. “Lunch.”

“Stop slobbering over her, Adrien,” Chloé chastised, pointing at her own eyes before at him. “I'm watching you.”

He looked confused as ever.

Marinette almost choked on her drink from her laughter.

“You're... friends?” he questioned, the lilt in his voice showing how befuddled he was. “You two?”

“I did tell you that,” she said.

Chloé latched onto that. “You've been talking to him?”

She smiled proudly. “Yes! I never got to meet him before, so—”

“This is the _worst_ time!” Chloé exclaimed, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Why couldn't you just wait until we got back? He's got this stupid ass crush on you right now—”

“ _Chloé_!” Adrien shrieked.

Chloé snapped back, “What, am I wrong?”

His face was red.

Marinette reached out and poked his cheek. “I already guessed that.”

He stared at her, opening his mouth with no words escaping.

“Cute,” she cooed.

He inhaled sharply.

Chloé kicked her under the table. “Stop being a pedophile.”

She made a pained noise. “You'll get detention for bullying me again.”

“It'll be worth it to stop him nutting from the sight of you,” Chloé replied, vaguely gesturing his way. “Did you really have to sit down here?”

Adrien buried his face in his hands. “You said you wouldn't tell her!”

“Shut up, it's not about you right now,” Chloé retorted. “Go sulk about your crush somewhere else.”

“Chloé,” Marinette scolded, patting Adrien's shoulder in what she hoped to be a comforting way. “You're gonna make him cry.”

“He's crying from you touching him,” Chloé muttered.

“You're the _worst_!” Adrien exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table as he stood up. He was only looking at Chloé as he said it, clumsily slipping the strap of his bag on. “You ignore me for days to—to do _this_?”

And with that, he ran away, going straight for the exit instead of his friends at the other table.

Marinette clicked her tongue. “Look what you've done.”

“Like you care?” Chloé scoffed. “You think this is a dream.”

“Why wouldn't I?” she countered. “It makes sense.”

With a sigh, Chloé stated, “You are such an idiot.”

“There's literally nothing you can do to try and convince me otherwise,” she pointed out. “You're a figment of my imagination. You can't provide proof for any of your claims. This place isn't even _real_! I didn't go to school with you, my parents are dead—”

“They aren't dead yet,” Chloé stubbornly reminded her.

“Wow, then this must be real,” she quipped. “I can't believe I didn't see it before.”

“They died when you were twenty-two.”

“Again, you know this because I do,” Marinette replied, tapping her temple. “You're me.”

“You really are the worst,” Chloé said.

She blew a kiss.

Chloé scowled.

“It's a bit redundant to ask whether that's what Adrien's really like, isn't it?” Marinette mused, opening up her food and taking large bite. “I barely know the dude.”

“He has a crush on you.”

She remarked, “So you've said.”

“Like, a really big one,” Chloé insisted, looking disgusted. “He was in your class last year and always rambled about how you'd doodle in the margins or whatever. One time, he found one of your drawings in the textbook that got handed out and he had to take a picture of it, so the teacher gave him detention for getting his phone out.”

All she got out of that was, “I draw on school property?”

“You still doodle a bit,” Chloé pointed out. “Especially when you're on the phone.”

“I guess that makes sense,” she mused, ending up agreeing with it. “A lot more than me being a gamer.”

“He likes the same games.”

She snorted. “Sure.”

“He tried really hard to improve after hearing you talking with everyone else about what level they were or whatever,” Chloé recalled, jabbing her food with more force than necessary with her plastic fork. “And I had to suffer through it because he smuggled the game console over to my house to stop his parents from throwing it out.”

Marinette grimaced. “Wow, I must be really desperate.”

“...Really?”

“He's not keeping my used tissues or anything, is he?” she joked.

“Why don't you tell me?” Chloé asked. “You think you're making everything up.”

With a smile, she said, “You can't convince me otherwise.”

Chloé looked fed up. “We literally got hit by a train.”

“If that's true, this is the life flashing before my eyes or whatever—except I'm making it all up because I have amnesia,” she mused. “That works out.”

“I hate you.”

“Adrien hates you,” she replied, pointing to the doors he'd stormed out of. “Aren't you supposed to be nice to him? You love him.”

Chloé scoffed. “I can't deal with his teenage hormones right now.”

She nodded. “He's too young for you, got it.”

“And he's too young for you, so hands off,” Chloé retorted, pointing her fork threateningly. “If I see you so much as touch his shoulder again, I'll make you regret it.”

“So territorial,” she remarked, amused. “Is this why you bullied me?”

“Because he's paying attention to someone other than me?” Chloé replied, trying to brush her hair over her shoulder. Even after a few days, she wasn't used to show short it was. “Of course. And you're also cute, so that annoyed me. Closet gay, remember?”

Rather than be offended, Marinette remarked, “You won't be in the closet any more if you don't keep it down.”

“As if you care,” Chloé snapped back. “You think this isn't real.”

She shrugged. “Doesn't mean I want to see you upset.”

“Punch anyone that makes me cry, then,” Chloé proposed.

“Oh, I'll do that anyway,” she promised. “But that also extends to Adrien.”

Chloé bristled. “Since _when_?”

“Since he's your other best friend,” she concluded with a serious nod. “Therefore, he's part of the family. It's my duty to punch you since he's probably crying in the bathroom right now.”

“Because he wants to _fuck you_ —”

Marinette waved her hand dismissively. “Details, details.”

“He can sulk and ignore me,” Chloé said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “It's not like it's going to fucking matter when we go back home. This is—what? An alternate timeline, surely? This can't cause any change on the rest of our lives.”

“That's nice,” she plainly replied.

“There's no other reason the both of us are here together.”

Marinette shoved a large amount of food in her mouth to avoid answering.

-x-

To her displeasure, nothing changed.

Whenever she woke up in the morning, Marinette squeezed her eyes to keep them shut, taking in a deep breath before she took in her surroundings.

It was pink.

She was fed up with the colour.

The endless niceness of her parents didn't stop being uncomfortable, the somewhat unfamiliar reflection in the mirror caught her off-guard every time, and the fact that she had to dress and go to school had her mood being worse with every passing day.

After she'd stopped being grounded, Tom kept asking her to play games with him.

She used homework as an excuse to avoid spending more time with them.

Because it wasn't _real—_

While her best friend was there in all her glory with her awful attitude, everything else was unknown. She didn't learn the names of class-mates that greeted her, blatantly ignored Alya and anyone else that tired to strike up a conversation with her, and Adrien turned red and stayed away from her ever since Chloé had had lunch with them.

She wasn't that upset.

He was made up, after all.

It was a nightmare, she decided. There was no other way to describe being trapped in the past that wasn't even _correct—_

The worst happened when she woke up with wet underwear.

She couldn't escape periods in her dream.

Her mood got worse.

And, somehow, it seemed that Chloé was getting as frustrated as her. They met up in the mornings looking equally as tired, trudging through the hallways, and as before, Chloé shoved homework for her to copy her way before the teachers arrived.

It was after she stared at her worksheet for that class for minutes on end, listening to the clock ticking, that she decided enough was enough.

Marinette stood up abruptly, leaving her bag and belongings and ignoring the teacher as she left.

She could run in her shoes, if needed. They fit better than the loose ones she'd been wearing before.

The teacher shouted after her.

She ran away.

It was surprisingly easy.

The gate at the entrance was shut, but it wasn't locked. Marinette only had to push it open to escape, running before any teacher could catch up to her.

What was the point of it all?

She'd never wanted to go back to school and experience it—it was enough that she could remember the languages she'd learned to get a job as a translator and start an life by herself instead of clinging to the distant family members that she didn't know.

It had always been her goal to move on and not be reminded that she was Tom and Sabine's girl, the one that had been in the accident with them.

Chloé had never looked at her that way.

And yet, she was dreaming that Chloé had been there all along and had chose to keep that information a secret, going as far as to bully her because Adrien had a crush—

It was so stupid.

With no money, phone forgotten on her desk as she'd never attempted the passcode again, there was nothing that she could do. Marinette slowed down and walked through the streets, bumping shoulders with strangers that weren't paying attention, wandering and taking in the sights to see whether she'd find something that didn't match up.

Marinette ended up in a park, sitting down on one of the empty benches as she ran her fingers through her hair to get rid of her braids.

It had been two weeks by then.

Two weeks of living with strangers that she'd slapped personalities onto, with Chloé knowing everything that she did—and even if Chloé was behaving normally, it wasn't a comfort to her.

She'd hit her head, hadn't she?

Marinette wondered whether she was in some sort of coma.

If Chloé's insistence that they'd been hit by a train was right, it couldn't have been that hard. The platform that they were at was one-way, so it would've had to stop and wait a while before it departed right back where it came from.

It would've been a nudge at most, maybe.

She didn't really know.

Marinette had never paid enough attention to trains before.

Pinching her arm hurt.

The blood in her underwear proved that she was capable was bleeding, too.

She stayed until it got dark.

-x-

“I got grounded,” Marinette complained.

Chloé laughed. “What did you expect? Your parents were so worried that they actually called mine.”

She muttered, “Bet that went well.”

“Oh, you mean like my dad saying that I have no friends before hanging up?” Chloé remarked, sounding bitter. “I forgot about how much of a dick he was.”

“Was?” she asked.

Chloé shrugged. “He got therapy and shit—wait, no? I think it was rehab? I can't even remember because I was away on holiday whenever he went.”

“That's... a lot.”

“He was a lot nicer after that, so that's all that matters,” Chloé mused. “And didn't mind me spending any amount of money.”

“He approved of your slacker ways, then,” she said.

“I had brand deals!” Chloé pointed out, jabbing her finger into Marinette's chest. “I got paid more to post one picture than you did all _month_ —”

“Shaming the poor?” she questioned, tutting. “That's terrible.”

Chloé huffed. “I'm shaming you.”

“I am poor!”

The younger students around them weren't paying them much attention any more. At first, they'd been wary of her and Chloé, openly staring at them taking up the bench.

None of the teachers had tried to usher them away, nor had one given Chloé detention for being too forceful with her.

“Not right now, you're not,” Chloé helpfully reminded her, patting her shoulder. “Unless your pocket money got stolen?”

Marinette frowned. “I don't have pocket money.”

Chloé waited.

“...I think.”

“You really aren't spending time with them, huh?” Chloé asked, the furrow in her brow making her concern obvious on her expression. “I know you say you don't care that much since you don't remember them, but—”

“Shaming the poor again,” she interrupted.

“I'm trying to help!” Chloé exclaimed.

“I don't need my imagination shaming me for not talking to my equally as imagined parents,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “It makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“What, me?”

She clarified, “No, I meant them. My parents.”

“Maybe that's the key for getting out of here,” Chloé said, tapping her finger thoughtfully against her chin. “That's usually the plot of some shitty movie, right? You need to bond with someone you've forgotten—”

“No, thanks,” she immediately shot down. “What's the point? Even if I like them, I'm going to wake up and be sad because this isn't _real_.”

“Or,” Chloé started, drawing out the word. “We've been sent back to the past and the butterfly effect is going to change everything.”

She snorted. “Wow, we're the chosen ones?”

“A mistake, clearly,” Chloé said without hesitation. “But we've got a duty to do whatever we want now. I'm going to pretend I understand stocks and invest in all the right shit.”

“You do that,” she encouraged. “I'll sit and watch.”

Chloé gave her a thumbs up. “I'll split it with you.”

“I'll be the emotional support to your scheme,” she mused. “And your getaway driver when I get my bicycle again.”

“...You don't have a bike?” Chloé asked.

“Honestly, I don't even know,” she replied. “I'm assuming not? Haven't seen any helmets around and there's no shed outside or anything.”

“You could always... ask,” was her suggestion.

Marinette grimaced. “Absolutely not.”

Chloé pointed out, “You can't avoid your parents forever.”

“I can try.”

It was hard to tell whether Chloé's expression was one of pity or not.

Marinette hated every passing day more and more.

-x-

“This is your house?” she questioned, placing a hand above her brow to squint up at the large home. The ivy that covered one of the walls was perfectly trimmed so it wouldn't cover the windows. “This looks like a freaking mansion, dude.”

Chloé snorted. “It's not as good as our next one.”

“Right,” she said, unconvinced as she looked around, inspecting the garden that was equally as trimmed and organised as the ivy. “Why did you move from here? I've been to your parents' place before. It wasn't this... big.”

“Exactly,” Chloé replied. “I wanted to move out, so they downsized and let me pick out the house.”

“They let _you_?”

Chloé shrugged. “It was the condition for me staying.”

“You've never wanted to leave!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You _love_ them throwing money at you! And the thought of doing your own laundry is enough to make you cry.”

“I'm not good at living alone,” Chloé said.

“You've never been alone,” she pointed out.

Chloé smugly replied, “I have when they've gone on romantic holidays without me.”

She stared in disbelief. “Wow, you couldn't handle a couple of days?”

“I went stir-crazy from having no one to talk to,” Chloé easily replied, not embarrassed in the slightest. “And before you suggest getting a pet, I'm not putting up with their shit. Literally. Absolutely not.”

“Rich people problems are really unrelatable,” she quipped.

With her no longer being grounded, Marinette was free to go outside at the weekend. She'd awkwardly said she was going to visit a friend that morning at breakfast, only for her parents to agree and ask for a phone call if she was going to stay the night.

It was as though they were used to that.

Marinette had only ever had sleepovers with Chloé—if it even counted as that.

“If you want to do movie shit, I can paint your nails,” Chloé suggested after Marinette had been tugged past Chloé's parents, shoved into a bedroom that was far more mature than her own pink one. “And chat about teenage boys, because wow, I sure forgot how gross they are. I can't believe I ever tried to convince myself otherwise.”

Marinette flopped down on the bed with a sigh. “I would kill for a glass of wine right now.”

“I mean, I'm pretty sure I could do that,” Chloé mused. “My parents wouldn't care. Yours might if you go home with a raging hangover tomorrow.”

She rolled over, pressing her face into the plush duvet. “Kill me.”

“That's not going to solve our problems.”

“This isn't about you!” Marinette exclaimed, not bothering to look up as she raised up her middle finger in Chloé's general direction. “I want to wake up in my own bed.”

“Mine will have to do,” Chloé said, settling down beside her, throwing her legs over the top of Marinette's and tangling them like they'd sometimes wake up as. “My mattress and pillows are memory foam, so you won't have to deal with back pain in the morning.”

“I'm a teenager, I don't have back pain yet,” she muttered.

“You don't know that,” Chloé pointed out. “It could be your poor posture during classes that makes it noticeable.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she replied sarcastically. “Am I not good enough for you, nerd?”

“My grades are better than yours.”

She wasn't impressed. “So you've said already.”

“I'm top of the class,” Chloé claimed.

“And yet, everyone hates you,” she remarked, rolling onto her side to face Chloé, narrowing her eyes. “Why's that? It's hard to believe no one wants to mooch off of you for your money.”

Rather than be offended, Chloé laughed. “Adrien likes me.”

“Adrien's been ignoring you ever since you outed his crush on me,” she reminded her. “That wasn't cool.”

“Not like you couldn't tell,” Chloé retorted. “I'd only seen you two together for two minutes and he had hearts in his eyes.”

“That doesn't mean you had to embarrass him!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, it does,” Chloé replied, smiling widely. “I spent years hearing about how great you were before when you barely even talked to him.”

“I must be so narcissistic to want this,” she muttered.

“I already said I wanted to see if he'd recognise you again, right?” Chloé continued on, ignoring her comment. “Because I really, really did. He's seen pictures of you and everything, but he's never... asked if you're you? From school, I mean. I think he was trying not to be racist or something.”

“...Excuse me?”

Chloé waved a hand dismissively. “It's rude to assume everyone of one ethnicity looks the same.”

“I don't think I look that similar,” Marinette replied, touching her cheek. “Maybe? I have better hair, skin, and I can finally dress myself.”

“Because I took you shopping,” Chloé said. “But that's changed now.”

“I forgot we're changing the timeline or whatever,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I guess that means I have to avoid stepping on an ant if I don't want to cause a war or whatever?”

“I don't know, dude, I hate time travel films.”

She nodded. “You hate anything that's too sciencey.”

“It's not even because of that,” Chloé argued. “The characters are always so _stupid_.”

“We're stupid,” she pointed out.

Chloé huffed. “I'm stupidly cute.”

Marinette squeezed the end of Chloé's nose. “That word's normally reserved for me. I'm the cute to your sexy.”

“You compliment me,” Chloé said, slapping her hand away. “You make me look like a solid ten all of the time.”

“And Adrien doesn't?”

Chloé tutted. “He steals the spotlight too much.”

“He is hot,” she agreed.

Chloé squinted. “He's under-aged.”

“Not right now!” Marinette denied, laughing loudly. “He's like—he's a little puppy right now, you know? He's all long limbs and turns red when I smile. I had fun eating lunch with him.”

“You're not allowed to ditch me,” Chloé complained.

“Because of _someone_ , he won't even look me in the eyes now—”

“You want to give a teenage boy boners, is that it?” Chloé demanded.

She pulled a face. “No.”

“Then, be happy,” Chloé replied, adjusting their intertwined legs and kneeing Marinette pointedly in the process. “I do _not_ need you to fuel his fantasies right now. He's gross.”

“He's your best friend,” she reminded her. “Your only friend, if you don't include me. He woke up and you're suddenly attached to my side like glue and ignoring him.”

“Why do you care?” Chloé snapped back. “You don't even think this is real.”

Chloé liked saying that.

“That doesn't mean you can be a bitch,” she retorted. “You know you're being ridiculous.”

Chloé frowned. “I hate kids.”

“We're kids.”

“I don't look my age, thank you,” Chloé responded.

“I look younger,” she proudly replied, smile reaching her eyes. “And it'll only get worse when you suddenly start wearing tight clothes and high heels.”

“You think my parents care enough to stop me right now?” Chloé responded, raising her eyebrows. “If it wasn't for the school uniform, I'd be slutting it up everyday.”

She laughed. “Your vocabulary is wonderful, as always.”

“My French grade is higher than yours, bitch.”

“So you say,” she mused. “I'm not believing it until I see it. And if I'm stuck here until the end of the year, I'm jumping into the fucking river.”

“I really don't think suicide is the way to get back home,” Chloé responded without hesitation. “And if it was, we'd need to jump in front of a train. Gotta match it up to what happened, you know?”

She grimaced at the thought.

“Or,” Chloé started thoughtfully. “It's my dream, not yours. I'm in a coma.”

“It's _mine_.”

“Well, I'm calling dibs,” Chloé proclaimed, haughtily brushing her short hair over her shoulder. It worked that time because she was on her side. “It's mine. I imagined you up and I'm fed up with you being a little bitch.”

She kicked her. “You can't just claim it's yours! It's been over a _month_!”

“A month of putting up with you,” Chloé replied with a sigh. “You can see why I want to get away, can't you?”

“I'm going to kill you,” Marinette threatened, clumsily getting up and grabbing a pillow from the top of the bed and promptly shoving it into Chloé's face. “You're going to suffocate.”

Chloé's voice was muffled. “It's _memory foam_!”

“That won't save you from death!” she exclaimed back, climbing on top of Chloé's torso to hold her down, laughing as Chloé squirmed to try and get away. “Come on, you want to wake up, don't you? I'm helping!”

Chloé was laughing. “ _Fuck_ _you—_ ”

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat.

It was neither of them.

Bewildered, Marinette looked over her shoulder.

Adrien was standing there, a hand on the doorknob as he stared wide-eyed at the two of them.

Marinette raised her hand and waved.

He waved back.

She was very aware of her position straddling Chloé's stomach.

Chloé used that time to move the pillow away, shoving Marinette onto the bed—causing her to let out a noise of surprise as she fell—before noticing the newcomer to the room.

“What do you want?” Chloé demanded.

“I—my parents dropped me off?” It came out sounding like a question. “They didn't want me to be home alone, so...”

Marinette sat up and slapped Chloé's arm. “Be nice.”

“Why should I?” Chloé complained, voice close to sounding like a whine. “It doesn't mean that you should come in here without warning.”

“I did knock,” Adrien awkwardly replied, running his fingers through his hair.

It was strange to see him out of his uniform, even more so when it was loose casual clothing that did nothing for his figure. Marinette was used to two versions of him by then; the young-faced one in the school uniform and the attractive pictures from his modelling.

“You can come in,” Marinette said.

Chloé snapped, “This isn't your room!”

“You're just going to send him away?” she questioned, raising her eyebrows. “He looks lost.”

“He needs to get lost,” Chloé muttered before turning her head to look at him. “Why are you here?”

Adrien's smile didn't reach his eyes. “You forgot.”

“I forgot what?” Chloé asked.

“It's—it's my birthday?” he replied, shifting on the spot. “You wanted me to come over.”

There was a pause.

Chloé grimaced.

Marinette huffed. “Well, you can't turn him away now.”

His voice was quiet. “I can go.”

“No,” Chloé said quickly. “That's—you can stay.”

He let go of the doorknob. “Okay?”

“Yeah, come in,” Chloé continued on, flopping back down on the mattress and staring up at the ceiling. “We'll get takeaway or some shit. There's a bakery nearby we can get a cake from—wait, no. That's not in this area.”

“It doesn't exist yet,” Marinette helpfully told her.

Chloé sighed. “We can go out and get a load of cupcakes.”

Adrien stayed quiet.

The atmosphere in the room was stifling.

And why wouldn't it be? Before she'd came back, Chloé and Adrien had been best friends—and yet, Chloé had barely been in his presence ever since, ditching him to spend time with her and ignoring his messages throughout the weeks.

It was enough to make her feel bad, even if it wasn't real.

She wasn't about to make anyone cry because she didn't care what happened. It still felt horrible to make someone's expression crumble from tears.

“I can go,” Marinette volunteered, hopping off of the bed and smoothing out her clothes. “You two need some time to catch up anyway.”

Chloé started to say, “Marinette—”

She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Give me money.”

Chloé didn't try and reject that. “Just take my card from my purse.”

With a glance around the room, she asked, “And that is where?”

“On my desk,” Chloé responded, gesturing vaguely to that side of the room. “Might as well take it all.”

She gave her a thumbs up. “I'll make good choices.”

“Not anything too chocolately,” Chloé suggested, touching her face. “I'll breakout if I have that.”

“Yes, princess.” She laughed, collecting the purse on the table and opening it up to check that Chloé's card was inside. “You've got a loyalty card for juice?”

“I think I was on some weird diet,” Chloé replied.

And with that, she turned on the spot to see Adrien standing by the door, staring at the two of them warily, clearly feeling entirely out of place.

Marinette smiled as she walked up to him. “Any requests?”

He blinked. “What?”

“For your birthday meal,” she clarified. “Only sweet things, of course. We're gorging.”

He swallowed. “I-I don't mind?”

“He doesn't like fruit!” Chloé helpfully yelled out.

Adrien looked a bit panicked. “That's not—”

“No fruit, gotcha,” she readily agreed, touching his shoulder on the way past. “I'll be back soon, so don't kill each other. I want to be involved if there's a murder.”

Adrien squeaked out his good-bye while Chloé threw a pillow at her.

She left laughing.

It wasn't hard to find a row of shops. Chloé lived closer to that area than she did, close enough that a few minutes of walking got her near busy streets with crowds of people. There were a few stores that were familiar, places that she'd ducked into to escape the family home she'd moved back into after the accident, yet the memories she had of them weren't very pleasant.

The area wasn't one she'd back to often.

Marinette took her time.

Without a phone, Chloé couldn't pester her to come back immediately, demanding food.

Her parents hadn't questioned her lack of phone—clearly hadn't tried to call her when she was walking to or from school—and not having the device on her wasn't one of the weirdest parts of believing that she was in the past.

Fashion was a little different.

In the end, she bought a selection of different desserts at a bakery, carrying the neat packaging back outside, ambling back in the right direction.

There was no need to rush.

Chloé needed to talk to Adrien properly.

When she came back, after standing at the front gate and waiting to be let in, she walked up the stairs slowly, keeping quiet.

The door wasn't fully closed.

There was laughter coming from inside.

And instead of being upset about being left out—because it wasn't that at all—Marinette stayed there, listening for a bit to the two of them talking. For as long as she'd known Chloé, she'd never seen them interact in person, had never seen if Chloé pushed him as much as she did to her, or if either of them had any habits around each other.

It was all made up, though.

Like with her parents interacting—it was what she wanted to see.

Her stomach felt tight.

After gently placing the box down on the floor beside the door, Marinette left.

-x-

“I'm angry, not disappointed,” Chloé said, putting her hands on her hips as she came to stand in front of her desk.

Rather than wait outside, they'd started to meet in the classroom in the mornings. It had been long enough for Marinette to remember her way around, almost completely remembering her schedule from the top of her head.

She snorted. “It's normally the other way around.”

“Well, not today,” Chloé retorted, narrowing her eyes. “I want to punch you.”

“So, like normal?” she quipped.

“Even more than normal!”

“Why?” Marinette batted her eyelashes innocently. “You made up with Adrien. You should be thanking me.”

Chloé pulled a face. “He's a _kid_.”

“Sixteen,” she helpfully pointed out. “He's slightly more mature than he was before. There you go, you can stop ignoring him now.”

Chloé sighed. “I already said I would when he started crying.”

That was a surprise to hear. “You made him cry?”

“He's a crybaby.”

“You made him _cry_!” Marinette exclaimed, horrified. “He's a kid!”

Chloé was incredulous. “You're the one saying he's not!”

“That doesn't mean you can kick him when it hurts!”

“It's _where_ it hurts, not when—”

“You ignoring him for weeks is a when!” she defended.

“See, this is why I have higher grades,” Chloé boasted, haughtily raising her head up. “I'm the one in the right.”

“You've only got the high ground because your legs are longer,” she retorted.

Chloé laughed. “Not how that works, babe.”

They got a few odd looks from other students for that.

It was normal by then—kind of. Alya had stopped trying to talk to her, everyone else only greeting her with a good morning or small talk when they were paired together, and no teachers had pulled her aside because they were worried about her change in attitude.

Marinette didn't have a passion.

She'd started translating because she'd managed to remember both languages fine after she'd woken up. It was logical to her to try and pursue the one thing she seemed to excel at when her other skills were average or barely-there.

It was her time to experiment; to go big in art classes only to end up with the teacher giving her tips on how to improve, to fly through the maths tests with random answers scribbled down, and daydream in class when the teachers droned on.

There was no strive to be good when there was no reason.

She wasn't going to be there forever, hopefully.

Chloé had the appeal of money to keep her going.

The newest development was that at lunch, Chloé dragged her over to Adrien's table when they'd gotten their food.

As before, Nino ran away.

“Does he hate me?” Marinette demanded, watching Nino scuttle off to another table. “It's been _ages_! He didn't even say hi this time.”

“No, it's me,” Chloé pointed out, stubbornly sitting in the middle before Marinette had even attempted to pull out a chair. “Nino's boring.”

“He's not boring,” Adrien defended, coming across significantly less tongue-tied since the last since she'd seen him. “He just—he doesn't like you. Yeah.”

Chloé snorted. “Eloquent.”

“You are kind of a bitch,” Marinette mused.

“Kind of?” Chloé asked. “I am, thank you.”

“It's not something to be proud of,” she said.

Chloé raised her eyebrows and jabbed her food with her fork.

She did the same.

Adrien looked between the two of them, chewing for more than necessary.

“So,” Marinette started after clearing her throat. “How long have you two been friends?”

Chloé wasn't pleased with the topic. “You know this.”

“I'm not talking to you,” she shot back, looking expectantly at Adrien. “I want to hear the other side of the story.”

“You could've asked him when you were alone before—”

“A while,” Adrien blurted.

She nodded, “A while, right.”

“Since we were little,” he explained, cheeks becoming rosy as he picked at his food instead of eating it. “Our parents are friends.”

That was information she already knew. “Does that mean they're dicks?”

He choked.

Chloé laughed. “Yeah, pretty much. They ditched him on his birthday.”

He tried to say, “They had work—”

Chloé wasn't having any of it. “And they'll continue to have work. They won't be there when you graduate—no matter if it's now or for university.”

He pointed out, “You just hate them.”

“For good reason,” Chloé said with an air of arrogance. “Who needs shitty parents, right?”

Marinette happily agreed. “No one!”

“I'm only sticking with them for money!” Chloé declared, clenching a fist. “Who needs a sugar daddy if I never see my own more than once a month? It works out!”

“You'd never be good at selling your body,” she mused, only a bit concerned as Adrien continued to cough into his hand, growing rapidly redder. It wasn't clear whether he was suffering from food in his throat or if the topic of their conversation was making it worse. “You don't like touching people.”

Chloé winked. “Even better that daddy doesn't want to so much as hug.”

Adrien wheezed. “Why are you talking like _that_?”

“About absentee parents?” Chloé questioned. “I mean, come on. What else are we going to gossip about? Might as well be something we've all got in common.”

He frowned. “That's not—”

“Mine never came back from getting milk,” Marinette proclaimed, sadly shaking her head. “I've been waiting so many years for that bowl of cereal.”

“I thought it was cigarettes,” Chloé said.

She shrugged. “Turns out they don't smoke. Who knew?”

Chloé nodded. “Not you.”

Adrien took a long sip of his drink before asking, “Is this really what we're talking about?”

“Got any better ideas?” Chloé questioned. “Because I'm not up for your nerdy shit today.”

“You're never up for it,” he muttered.

Marinette laughed. “Ignore her.”

“That's his best skill,” Chloé said.

“But you always say I have no life skills,” Adrien claimed, tilting his head. “Are you a liar now?”

“I've been lying to you a long time,” Chloé decided to say, dramatically putting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands. “I'm going to come clean to you now.”

He looked at her warily. “You are?”

“I don't like you,” Chloé said.

He frowned. “Is that it?”

“Romantically,” Chloé clarified, talking without a quiver to her voice. “I'm not interested in you or anyone else.”

“That's nice?” he replied.

“I'm very gay,” Chloé bluntly confessed.

He stared.

Marinette clapped. “I'm so proud of you.”

Chloé glared at her. “Shut the fuck up—”

“Is this how it went the first time?” she questioned, glancing around the dining hall. “Actually, no. I can't imagine that you'd admit that here of all places.”

“Of course not,” Chloé said. “It was during a sleepover.”

She beamed. “You have sleepovers together?”

“With matching pyjamas,” Chloé revealed with a wide smile. “He hates them.”

“Any pictures?” Marinette asked, leaning closer. “That sounds so cute! Baby Chloé ignoring fashion for once—”

Chloé butted in with, “They're designer.”

She sighed. “Of course they are.”

“You—why are you telling her that?” Adrien questioned, voice coming out strangled. “What?”

Chloé narrowed her eyes at him. “You're more concerned about Marinette than me being gay?”

He blurted, “What the—”

The bell rang.

Marinette clapped her hands. “Come on, children. It's time to leave.”

She got two equally bewildered looks at that.

“I can't spend your money if you get grounded for bad behaviour,” Marinette proclaimed, winking at Chloé. “And Adrien's—I don't know, actually. Are you a good student?”

He blinked.

“I'm gonna just assume yes,” she mused. “You look like you'd be good at everything.”

He didn't say no to that.

-x-

As it turned out, the key to making Adrien open up was to ask about what he was interested in.

With Chloé's apparent dislike of him talking about what he did in his free time, Marinette happily questioned him about it, surprised when he was able to talk more than one sentence to her without stumbling over his words.

It was routine to spend breaks in another year's section with Chloé, sitting down at lunch with Adrien who'd saved a table for them. After Chloé had confirmed that they'd continue to spend time with him—causing Adrien to smile brightly—Nino didn't bother running away since he wasn't sitting with Adrien in the first place.

She wasn't surprised that Nino disliked Chloé.

At lot of people did, in fact. Chloé wasn't good at softening the blow of her blunt words, often not caring if she upset whoever she was talking to, and Marinette had only just gotten over the phase of being embarrassed and apologising for Chloé's behaviour.

It was her choice.

Adrien assured her that it wasn't her that Nino disliked, though the fact that he'd scurried off to give her and Adrien alone time before wasn't one that she'd agreed with.

It was obvious that Adrien's crush on her hadn't lessened.

If they'd been in classes together, surely he would've been sneaking glances at her throughout, perhaps trying to sit beside her when seating arrangements were changed.

Spending almost an hour with him at lunch wasn't enough to know his personality—at least, not the one she'd assigned and imagined for him.

There was an awkward moment when he was rambling on about one of his interests, only to ask her, “It's your favourite game, right?”

She made a non-committal noise. “Is it?”

“It was?” Adrien replied, tilting his head. “But you might've moved on. I was pretty late in joining.”

“I haven't played anything,” she admitted.

Chloé pitched in with, “She's got better ways to spend her time.”

“Watching cat videos,” she mused. “And anime.”

“Very fulfilling,” Chloé agreed.

Adrien furrowed his brow. “Really?”

“Yep,” she said.

He seemed confused by her answer. “Why?”

“Why?” she parroted. “Why what?”

“You—you loved playing games?” he questioned, touching the nape of his neck with his hand, body language screaming that he was self-conscious. “I mean, it seemed that way. I was hoping to beat you for rankings eventually.”

Chloé had said something about that.

“You win automatically,” she assured him. “Can't exactly lose when I'm not even active, right?”

He frowned. “I guess.”

“You've crushed his dream,” Chloé chastised, pointing her finger at her disapprovingly. “He's going to cry now.”

“I'm not going to cry!” Adrien exclaimed.

They both ignored him.

“Am I going to be punished for ruining a child's dream?” Marinette questioned, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “I deserve it.”

He reminded them, “I'm older than both of you—”

“You punishment can be coming over to mine Friday,” Chloé stated. “For a sleepover.”

Marinette pulled a face. “That requires actually talking to my parents.”

“I've got a good bottle of wine,” Chloé said with a smug smile. “Sure you don't want to try?”

Adrien didn't approve of that. “You can't be serious.”

“You're not invited,” Chloé shot back.

“You can barely handle one drink!” he retorted, focusing on Chloé's offer rather than how ready Marinette had been to accept it. “And you think you can handle a whole bottle? You'll get sick.”

“Don't be silly,” Chloé replied with a laugh. “I'll only have half. Marinette's can have the other.”

Marinette gave her a thumbs up. “I'm in.”

“That's a terrible idea,” he blurted.

“Still not invited,” Chloé said.

He squinted. “Tell me you're joking about the wine.”

“What's the problem?” Chloé asked, crossing her arms. “I'm not going to get shit-faced like my parents. My tolerance isn't _that_ bad.”

“...Yes, it is,” Adrien replied slowly.

“Oh,” Chloé said, realisation sinking in. “You're right, yeah. I'm a baby.”

“You're always baby,” Marinette said, patting her arm in sympathy. “Anyone that can't do their own washing is.”

Chloé raised her middle finger.

She beamed.

Adrien looked at them in concern.

Although he didn't voice it, it was clear that he was just as confused as everyone else with their sudden friendship.

She wasn't that surprised when she turned up at Chloé's for the sleepover, only to find that Adrien was there, sitting on Chloé's bed with his arms crossed, glaring at the bottle of wine on the desk that hadn't even been attempted to be hidden.

“Where's Chloé?” she asked, peering around the room.

“In the shower,” he said, gesturing to the adjoined bathroom. “Did you get here okay?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Marinette replied, placing her bag down carelessly on the floor before jumping onto the bed with him, sighing at the softness. And as she closed her eyes, pressing her face into the duvet, she asked, “Did you get shoved here again or did you ask to come?”

“A bit of both,” he admitted.

She laughed. “I'm sorry for stealing your best friend.”

“That's—that's not it,” Adrien stuttered out, sitting up stiffly. “I don't think you're stealing her.”

“You sure? I am taking her away at breaks.”

“She wouldn't even be with me normally,” he pointed out. “She used to spend time in the library.”

That was something she hadn't known. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed softly. “She doesn't like my friends, so...”

“So, you wouldn't leave them for her?” she questioned, a bit baffled by the idea.

Adrien had been Chloé's other closest friend back in her time; someone that Chloé cried to over the phone and didn't hesitate to share secrets with.

Marinette was jealous of that relationship.

“It's not that,” he quickly tried to assure her. “She's not—she doesn't want that? I said that I don't care, but she gets grumpy when I join her.”

She sighed. “Sounds like her.”

“I really thought you weren't friends,” he whispered.

“We are now,” Marinette told him. “Times change.”

It was hard not to laugh at her choice in words.

Adrien wasn't sharing her amusement. “I thought she hated you.”

“We bonded over how cute I am,” she quipped.

He made a strangled noise.

She opened her eyes to see that his ears were red as he was trying not to look at her.

“That's how this friendship works,” Marinette continued on, amusement clear in her tone. “We talk about how pretty I am. You sure you're up for that for this sleepover?”

“I could only be here for dinner,” he pointed out.

“And miss out on this bonding time?” she questioned. “I doubt your parents are worrying about what you'll get up to if they're happy to shove you here at any chance.”

“...Do you hate parents or something?” Adrien asked.

She laughed. “Only the shitty ones.”

“Mine really aren't that bad,” he tried to say.

“Yet,” she stated.

He breathed out audibly. “You two are really weird lately.”

“You know me enough to compare me to before?” she teased.

“A bit?” It came out sounding like a question. “We—we talked.”

Chloé had told her otherwise.

She encouraged him with, “Oh, did we?”

It had the opposite effect.

Adrien crossed his legs, getting comfortable despite not looking her way. “You don't remember?”

“I barely remember last week,” she proclaimed. “My brain's all mush and most of it gets thrown out—like homework. I've been copying Chloé for weeks and no one seems to care.”

“But—”

“But?” she asked.

He quietly told her, “You liked doing your homework early.”

“I'm rebellious now,” she said, rolling over so her front was against the mattress, sighing from how comfortable it was. “There's no point in learning all this.”

“Are you depressed?” he asked.

She choked out a laugh.

“You're...” Adrien trailed off, struggling to find the right word. “You're different.”

“That's a part of growing up,” she pointed out.

He replied, “You haven't grown.”

“That's a joke!” Marinette exclaimed, excitedly sitting up. “You joked with me!”

He finally looked at her, wide-eyed and surprised by her reaction.

She beamed.

He returned the smile hesitantly.

-x-

Adrien loosened up around her.

A quarter of a bottle of wine wasn't enough to get either of her or Chloé drunk, but he'd yanked the bottle away before they could reach for it, pouring it down the sink.

Chloé wasn't surprised by his actions.

Marinette decided not to address it.

There was a lot of talking.

And when it came time to sleep, Chloé made a point of making Adrien try and drag a mattress from a guest room over to her bedroom floor—ended up with him struggling to get it through the door before it actually worked—so he'd be in the same room as them.

Chloé dramatically opened her drawer to fetch Adrien's matching pyjamas that she kept for him.

When the two of them were standing side-by-side wearing them, with Chloé posing and Adrien looking miserable, Marinette had laughed until she had tears in her eyes.

It was the most childish sleepover she'd ever had.

She liked it.

There was a certain charm to it that Chloé staying over at her one bedroom apartment didn't have; there was three of them, for once, and Adrien and Chloé bickering with each other was endlessly amusing, especially when Adrien remembered that she was there and got shy about how loud he was being.

He started to become a regular at the weekends.

Her parents weren't happy with her staying over to sleep every week, sadly, but she was allowed out throughout the day if she promised to be home in time for dinner.

It was still weird to interact with them.

“Still feeling like you're going mad?” Chloé questioned.

“Everything's kind of hazy,” Marinette mused, holding her hand up in the sky to try and block out the sun. The weather had gotten progressively worse, raining almost daily as the winter holidays approached. “Nothing really has any meaning, you know?”

“You need a hobby,” Chloé said.

“I need to wake up,” she countered.

Chloé's laugh sounded bitter. “You're still on about that?”

“You can't convince me otherwise.”

“It's been over two months,” Chloé replied, leaning to rest her head on Marinette's shoulder with a sigh, managing to avoid the fur around the hood of her coat. “That's fucking insulting. You think I'd be your imaginary friend for that long?”

She smiled. “Everyone's my imaginary friend.”

“I literally hate you,” Chloé proclaimed.

She reached around and patted the top of Chloé's head, careful not to ruin her hair. “That's why you're attached to my side?”

“Hey, everyone else thinks I seduced you over to the bad side.”

“Your feminine wiles really got to me,” she agreed.

Chloé snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“You're super hot, dude,” Marinette assured her with a laugh. “You're, like, my guru on all things self-care. There has to be a job for that, right? Not like a health coach, but someone that helps you be beautiful.”

“I don't care about other people,” Chloé muttered.

“That you confessing your love to me?” she teased.

Chloé retorted, “I know a charity case when I see one.”

“You should give me more money,” she immediately requested. “I'm worth so much more than this.”

“Tell you what, when we wake up I'll buy you a whole new wardrobe,” Chloé offered with the casual tone that would usually be used for something mundane. “And a new kettle. I hate yours.”

“You hate the colour,” she corrected. “And I don't need new clothes.”

Chloé sniffed. “You always need more clothes.”

“You're just itching for a shopping spree,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, so?”

Marinette patted her head. “There, there. You'll be able to spend shit loads soon.”

“Soon, you say,” Chloé muttered. “If two months isn't soon, I might as well die.”

“You can't even handle a papercut,” she reminded her. “There's no need to be dramatic.”

Chloé grumpily responded, “Dramatic is my middle name.”

“...You don't have one.”

“I paid money to change it,” Chloé proclaimed.

She made a thoughtful noise. “Can't argue with that one.”

It wasn't so bad.

She imagined that if Chloé wasn't there with her, it would've been so much worse. Chloé being aware of how they'd been as adults and being of a similar maturity made it bearable for the most part.

Marinette still wasn't over that she'd gotten grounded.

For lunch that day, Adrien shyly said, “I got this for you.”

It was her favourite drink that was sold there.

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling widely as she took the straw out. “What do I owe you?”

“You're not giving him my money,” Chloé butted in.

With a laugh, she claimed, “I have my own money!”

“It's fine,” Adrien told her, giving her one of those shy smiles that reached his eyes and made it apparent how young he looked. “It was the last one and I get here before you, so—”

Chloé chose to say, “Ew.”

He glared at her.

Marinette tried not to laugh.

They started bickering after that.

It was nice.

She hoped their dynamic was somewhat like that in reality—or, at least for her to fit in with them seamlessly. It was always a worry that meeting Adrien would result in awkwardness between them, making it so hanging out together was more stifling then comfortable.

Chloé was her only close friend.

And Adrien—

He'd always sounded so nice, from what she'd heard and seen through his interactions on the phone with Chloé. There were pictures and videos of the two of them, of course, but she wanted to actually see them in person instead of judging from the snippets they posted on social media when they met up.

If anything, she hoped that he liked her.

He kept stealing glances at her though lunch.

She smiled whenever he looked her in the eyes, getting a shy one in return before Chloé teased him for the redness of his face.

When they wandered off to their next class, with Adrien going in the opposite direction after awkwardly patting Marinette on the shoulder, Chloé had to say, “He's like a puppy.”

“He's cute,” she said, nudging Chloé with her elbow. “Like a kid you'd babysit, you know?”

Chloé pointed out, “You've never babysat in your life?”

She shrugged. “I've seen it on TV.”

“That doesn't count at all.”

“I've spent time with you,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows. “What about that?”

Chloé glared at her as they approached the bottom of a set of stairs. “I'm older than you.”

“I'm the mature one,” she proclaimed.

“I answer your phone when it's an unknown number,” Chloé said.

She huffed. “You should ignore them if it's unknown!”

“Last time, it was your hairdresser saying they'd changed your appointment—”

“Shut up, you're not allowed to use logic on me,” she retorted, almost bumping into another student as they came to the turning on the stairs. “I'm the one with street smarts.”

Chloé's smile was wide. “Oh, so you agree I'm smart in other ways?”

Childishly, she stuck her tongue out.

Chloé rolled her eyes.

It was a nice moment.

At least, that was until her foot missed the step completely, heel hanging off the edge, and she clumsily toppled back, tumbling back the stairs that she'd just climbed.

-x-

There were hands pulling her up.

Marinette was handled with what seemed to ease compared to how heavy her limbs felt to herself. She let out a loud breath that sounded like a wheeze as she was pulled onto the floor, coughing as Chloé frantically touched her face and shouted for someone to call an ambulance.

“I'm fine,” she tried to say.

There was a lot of noise around them, the ringing in her ears not making it any better.

“You're bleeding,” Chloé replied, voice wobbling from her tears.

She closed her eyes, leaning into Chloé's touch. “Sorry.”

“Don't you fucking apologise,” Chloé snapped. “That dick's the reason you fell.”

She didn't know what to say to that.

When she opened her eyes, it made her stomach churn uncomfortably as she took in her surroundings. There was a train; the doors open and people coming out, stepping around her and Chloé who were on the floor, and there were some of the station's attendants hovering around them, one opening up a first-aid kit.

She blinked slowly.

The view stayed the same.

It didn't feel like she'd been hit by a train.

“Hey,” Chloé said, snapping her fingers to get her attention. “The ambulance should be, like, ten minutes.”

When had she been told that?

Marinette felt dazed as she replied, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com/) ♥(ㆁωㆁ*)


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